Anatomy of a Voyeur
by mnemosyne23
Summary: At the Weasley's annual Summer Solstice Celebration, Hermione sees some sparks flying and can't seem to look away. BillFleur, with implied RonHermione. Rated R for sexual situations read disclaimer in the authors notes!


**TITLE:** Anatomy of a Voyeur  
**AUTHOR:** Mnemosyne  


**DISCLAIMER:** All elements of the "Harry Potter" universe are the property of JK Rowling, et al. All new characters and situations belong to me. :-D  
**SUMMARY:** At the Weasley's annual Summer Solstice Celebration, Hermione sees some sparks flying and can't seem to look away.   
**RATING:** Definitely R, for sexual situations  
**CATEGORY:** Romance  
**COUPLE(S):** Bill/Fleur (established), Hermione/Ron (future implied)  
**TIMELINE:** In an AU universe, post-"GoF." "Order of the Phoenix" does not affect this story, since it has yet to be released.  
**NOTES:**  
More Bill/Fleur! I guess we all know what my newest obsession is, now don't we? LOL! Perhaps with the publication of "Order," I'll get up the guts to tackle Ron/Hermione. Till that fabled day, I'll stick with my B/F. *happy sigh* Now, on that note, **THIS IS AN R-RATED FIC FOR A REASON**. It's NOT NC-17, but it's not PG-13 either. This is no worse than I've seen in many R-rated films (anyone catch "The Matrix: Reloaded"?), but like those films, it is intended for a mature audience. If you know you're too young to be reading this, you are welcome to turn back. I won't mind. :-D If, however, you continue reading this, then you are implicitly stating that you realize the content of this story and willingly agree to read it. That goes for all ages, young and old. You have been warned! 

*pause* 

Geez, I sound so strict. LOL! It's just a story! But if you've stuck with it this far, through all my jingoese, I hope you enjoy! Oh, and PS: translations for the French portions of this text are provided either contextually or at the bottom of the story. :-D 

  


* * *

  
Sultry. 

Hermione Granger had a brain like a dictionary wrapped around an encyclopedia, but the only word she could focus on at the moment was that one: _sultry_. The air was humid, filled with the scent of seductive spices and smoky firecracker residue. It was a hot summer night in late June; June 21st, to be precise. The Solstice. Which meant the Weasley family was holding its annual Summer Solstice Celebration, and everyone in God's creation seemed to be invited. That was an overstatement, to be sure, but Arthur Weasley wasn't the only fruitful progenitor with that surname. Ron's plethora of aunts, uncles, and - Dear Lord - COUSINS was enough to boggle even Hermione's prodigious mind. 

Ron had invited her and Harry up for the annual family get-together as a friendly gesture, but she knew it was more for Harry's benefit than her own. Since the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry's letters had been frequent but brief. 

_Dear Hermione, _

How are you? I'm doing well. Still alive, at least. Dudley's eating like a pig again. Hedwig misses Crookshanks, though she won't admit it. 

See you at school. 

Sincerely,  
Harry 

And so they went, each one. More a way for him to prove he was still alive rather than communicate anything that was going on inside his turbulent mind. It made Hermione want to scream in frustration. She and Ron had always been there for Harry in the past; it was heartbreaking that he didn't feel comfortable enough to talk to them about his inner turmoil. 

Still, the Solstice Celebration seemed to be helping. It was a brilliant idea, Hermione had to admit. Surrounding a person with that many Weasleys was a bona fide way to cure anyone of even their grimmest thoughts. And indeed, Harry's customary smile had reappeared after only a few hours among the jovial relatives. Just a few hours after that he was laughing, and even taking part in a very heated conversation about whether the Chudley Cannons were going to make it to the finals that year. He said yes, Ron's cousin Cyril - a die-hard Devonshire Dragons fan - said no. It had brought tears to Hermione's eyes to see her friend so invigorated. He had seemed so wilted after leaving Hogwarts at the end of last term. She had even dared a huge hug for Ron in congratulations. 

"What's that all about?" the stunned youngest Weasley son had asked, eyes wide. 

"Because you can be the sweetest person in the world, when you're not being an absolute toad," she'd responded, squeezing him tighter. 

He hadn't moved when she let go, and Hermione blushed as she remembered the dazed look on his face as she walked away. She wasn't quite sure what was going on between herself and Ronald Weasley, but it was enough to make her stomach flutter. 

Still, while the Weasleys were the miracle cure for Harry's ills, they were definitely an acquired taste for any other outsiders, Hermione included. Her own family reunions were muted affairs, usually consisting of an afternoon picnic and a few games of horseshoes. In contrast, Charlie Weasley - one of Ron's older brothers - had brought a juvenile (and adorable) Scarlet Wyrm with him from Romania to help roast the reindeer uncle Ansgar and aunt Birgitta Weaslüy had brought with them from Norway. Hermione wasn't entirely sure how far removed some of these relations were, but she was certain an umlaut located anywhere in the name had to make the familial connection pretty distant. But they still had the red hair! 

Yes, the Weasley's were wonderful people, but after a morning and an afternoon spent entirely in their company, Hermione needed a breather. The Burrow was nowhere near big enough to hold this many people normally, but for this particular celebration, every year Arthur Weasley enchanted his backyard to be the size of a Quidditch field and shrouded the entire affair in a _Conspirio_ charm, masking the sound, sight, and smell of the celebration from any curious Muggles who might wander past. Of course, if any of those Muggles chose to step through the front gate, they'd have been faced with quite a shock, not the least of which being the sheer plentitude of red hair. Luckily, the people of Ottery St. Catchpole had long ago learned to ignore the odd happenings at the ramshackle home, and had no desire to snoop around. 

Escaping from the noise and boisterous crowds, Hermione snuck around to the front of the Weasley home and sat on the front stoop. She could still hear the carousing coming from the backyard, but the _Conspirio_ charm was a particularly powerful one, and even here, the sound was muted to a tolerable level. Now that night had come on, Hermione had seen Molly adding some more touches to the spell, strengthening it so that anyone who might want to get some sleep in the lopsided home - most of the relations had brought their own enchanted tents, but a chosen few were bunking in the house - could nip inside and rest unhindered. Hermione was thankful to the older woman, and closed her eyes to enjoy the relative quiet. 

The sound of approaching feet and quiet voices made her open her eyes again. Someone was coming around the right side of the building; two someones, to be more specific. Hermione sighed, eyes darting around to find a hiding place. She wasn't anti-social by nature, but she didn't want to get drawn into a long conversation just now. Her eyes latched onto a gnarled, twisted oak tree that thrust up from the ground near the corner of the house to her right, and she quickly hopped up to scurry behind it, using it's elderly trunk as an ideal hiding place. Curiosity, however, got the better of her as she heard the voices turn the opposite corner of the house, and she dared a peek around the trunk to see who they belonged to. 

It was Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour. 

Here was a story that she had yet understand completely. _Whirlwind romance_ didn't seem an apt enough term to describe the relationship that had sprung up between the eldest Weasley son and the beautiful French quarter-veela. Hermione hadn't even known they'd met, let alone interacted, until Ron invited her to come to this celebration. 

_Hermione! _

You've got to get your parents to let you come to our Summer Solstice Celebration this year. It's bound to be wicked fun. It always is! But this year especially. Want to know why? Bill's dating FLEUR DELACOUR! Can you believe it? Lucky bastard. This has to be seen to be believed. Honest! Say you'll come? I'm inviting Harry, too. Hope it'll make him feel a bit better. You know, after everything and all. Look, just ask your parents, and if they say no… Well, they won't, because you'll think of someway to get them to say yes. I'll see you June 21st then! 

Sincerely,  
Ron 

PS - You might actually want to get here on the 20th. Maybe the 19th. Preferably early. The relations start arriving the night before the actual shindig, and once they start, it takes a long time before they stop. Mum says you can bunk with Ginny. See you then! 

Hermione had only caught a few glimpes of the willowy veela amongst the ruddy Weasley relatives, but those few sightings had been impossible to miss. The young Frenchwoman was stunningly beautiful. She had graduated from Beauxbatons after returning to the school following the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and supposedly it was after that when she reunited with Bill, whom she'd encountered briefly while visiting Hogwarts for the competition. Hermione wasn't clear on whether the two had met anew on a professional level, or strictly by chance, but whatever the reasons, the attraction had obviously been immediate and binding. The young witch would have been inclined to believe Bill was just under a veela love spell if she hadn't seen his face during one of those brief encounters with Fleur in the crowd. When Ron had fallen victim to veela magic at the Quidditch World Cup, he had been slack jawed and glassy-eyed. Likewise, when he'd fallen for Fleur during the Tournament, he'd had an inhuman distance in his gaze when he looked at the visiting French witch. There was none of that in Bill's eyes as he stood with Fleur, his arm wrapped loosely around her slim waist. None of the possessive jealousy Hermione had read about as a result of a veela's charms. Perhaps all his years of breaking spells had left him immune to Fleur's diluted veela magic, but whatever the reasons, it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that he was madly in love with the slightly younger woman. The only thing MORE obvious was that Fleur absolutely _adored_ him. A blind mole couldn't have missed the adulation that poured off the French witch whenever she looked at her lover. 

They were talking quietly to each other as they rounded the corner of the house. Bill had his arms wrapped around Fleur's waist, and Fleur's hands rested lightly on his arms. He was whispering something in her ear, and judging by the blush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, it wasn't something anyone else was meant to hear. "Bill!" the French girl giggled, smacking his arm playfully and twisting her head around to peer over her shoulder at him. "You are wicked!" 

Bill grinned mischievously at her as they stopped on the bottom step of the front entryway. "If you haven't learned that yet, Fleur, then I obviously haven't subjected you to enough of my company." 

"We are togezzer all day, every day." 

"Then I'll have my work cut out for me, won't I?" 

Fleur laughed again. "Oh, Bill," she sighed, reaching over her shoulder to touch his cheek. 

He smiled gently in return. "Want to go to bed?" he asked softly. 

Fleur closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his collarbone. Hermione decided they were the just the right size for each other: Fleur fit perfectly against Bill's front, and was just the right height for him to rest his chin on the top of her head. "Izn't it a bit odd?" she murmured dreamily as he rocked her slowly back and forth. "Zis iz your family's 'ome." 

"I know." 

"Won't you feel…" She let the question dangle. 

Bill nuzzled her neck. "This is the place where I started to dream about having girls like you, Fleur," he murmured near her ear, so quietly Hermione almost couldn't hear. "So you could call it a dream come true." 

The smile that slowly suffused the veela's face was something poets had been trying to describe for centuries. It made Hermione at once exceedingly jealous and heartbreakingly hopeful. "_Je t'aime_, Bill," Fleur whispered. 

"I love you too," he murmured back. 

"Take me to bed?" 

"All right." 

He unfurled his arms from around her waist, took her hand, and led her the rest of the way up the steps to the double-decker front door. Swinging it open, he guided the pale young woman across the threshold, disappearing into the unlit interior of the home, while Hermione watched with something approaching envious interest. 

  


***********************

  
Hermione had never been an outdoorsey type. Most of her childhood memories involved curling up in her father's red leather wingchair with a dusty volume of Churchill's _History of the English-Speaking Peoples_, or some other lofty tome. Running, jumping and playing hide-and-seek was something she pursued when the spirit moved her, but she preferred reading in the shade beneath the spreading elm tree in her family's back yard. 

All of which made her current actions all the less justifiable. She told herself she was just searching out a more secure hiding place to escape the hubbub of the celebration, but that was ridiculous and she knew it. The Weasleys didn't have the plague, and she wasn't shunning them; she was actually rather missing the frenzied carnival atmosphere of the backyard. No, if she was honest with herself, she was clambering hand over hand up through the twisted branches of the knotty oak tree because she knew - thanks to a geometrically deductive brain - that its upper boughs would provide a clear view of Bill's childhood bedroom. 

Hermione Granger was going to play the voyeur, and she didn't have the faintest idea of why. 

It had never been her goal in life to watch… what she was about to watch. She'd read about it plenty of times in books, and seen enough documentaries on television, to know everything she felt she needed to know for when her first time rolled around. But that didn't make the urge to see it firsthand any less strong, and try as she might, she couldn't make her feet carry her back down the tree. 

Settling into a notch between two particularly large branches which formed a handy - if slightly uncomfortable - seat, she leaned to the side, resting her cheek on the back of her hand, and watched through the window as Bill's bedroom door opened and he stumbled in with Fleur. _Stumbled_ was, in fact, the only way to describe the scene. The two were tangled together in a kiss that made Hermione's breath catch. //No wonder they took such a time getting to the room,// she thought randomly, watching as Fleur tugged off Bill's textured leather vest, tossing it to the floor. The window was about ten feet from Hermione's position, and obscured slightly by leaves, but she still had a clear enough view to see Bill's hand expertly unbuttoning the back of Fleur's airy summer dress. It was a filmy, multi-layered thing, composed of white swaths of chiffon and silk. It parted like clouds, to reveal a column of shimmering ivory skin down her back. Hermione bit her lip as Bill's tanned fingers traced down Fleur's spine; she saw the veela shiver, and sympathized. 

Bill said something close to Fleur's ear, and the woman nodded. To Hermione's alarm, he pulled away from the veela and made a beeline for the window. She cast about for a better hiding place, but before she could make a move, Bill reached the window and threw it open. Hermione froze, waiting for him to see her, to demand an explanation. But he didn't. Instead, he turned around and leaned against the window frame. 

"That should lighten up the stuffiness a bit," Hermione heard him say, the voice drifting to her across the humid summer air. "It feels like a sauna in here." 

Fleur smiled. "I wuz wondering why it wuz zo 'ard to breathe," she purred, eyes hooded. 

Hermione couldn't see Bill's face, but she could tell from the tone of his voice that he must have been grinning. "You're going to wound my pride, Fleur, if you carry on like that. I thought I was the only one who could leave you breathless." 

"Muzzer Nature, she does not share zat view." 

"Oh really?" He pushed away from the window and sauntered across the room to curl his arms around her waist, turning them both so they were profiled to the window. "I wonder which of us would win in a contest then. Mother Nature… Well, she's good, but she has to work vicariously." Hermione could see his mouth twitch up in a smile. "I, on the other hand, have the luxury of contact." To prove his point, he pulled Fleur's dress calmly off one shoulder and leaned forward to press a kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. 

Fleur moaned softly, arching her neck and cupping his elbow. "Oooh," she cooed, body tightening. "_Oui_, zat iz an advantage…" 

Hermione couldn't hear Bill's response, but she saw him drag Fleur's other sleeve down to match the first, peeling the dress off the young woman's slender body to pool around her feet like mist. Her body was milk white, smooth like ivory, and utterly naked save for a pair of lace panties that hardly covered enough to be described as _"clothing."_ Despite the summer heat, she immediately pressed closer to Bill's body, as though chilled by the air. His strong hand slid up her arm, squeezing just above the elbow, as he kissed across her collarbone and up her throat to her chin. "Dreams don't hold a candle to you, Fleur," he murmured against her lips. 

The veela didn't answer, choosing instead to lean into him with a kiss that made Hermione gulp. Fleur's eager fingers tore at the buttons of Bill's shirt, sending a few of the less cooperative ones flying off like a spray of stray bullets. "Veela do not dream of love," she panted against his mouth as they separated. 

"No?" Bill asked breathlessly, shrugging out of his shirt and throwing it aside before twining his arms around her again and kissing her passionately. When they drew apart, he asked, "What do they dream about?" 

The question ended on a moan as Fleur began fervently kissing down his bare, muscled chest, slowly sliding down his body to kneel on the floor in front of him. "Of being 'uman," she purred, nuzzling his stomach and kissing a circle around his navel. 

Bill laced his fingers into her silvery hair. "Sounds wonderful." His voice was husky with restrained lust. 

"_Oui_," Fleur agreed, toying with the button at the top of his Muggle denims and eliciting a groan from him. "Zey can be beautiful." As she tugged open the button and slid down the zipper, her lips made a slow trail down his stomach, starting at his navel and working south. "But I zink I would prefer to dream of love." 

Bill shivered as the witch pushed his jeans down to gather at his feet, revealing a pair of black silk boxers and long, well-muscled legs. Hermione watched with rapt attention, swallowing as each inch of skin was revealed. None of the Weasley men were what she would call _"muscle bound"_. Even Charlie, who spent so much time wrangling dragons, wasn't bulging with muscle. They were lean and strong, all of them, and while some were stocky while others were lanky, they all seemed to possess a wiry strength that made them seem more agile than brutal. Looking at Bill Weasley now, Hermione could easily picture him weaving his way through narrow Egyptian passageways hidden in cramped underground chambers. 

"Your boots, zey are in ze way." 

Fleur's voice pulled Hermione back to the situation at hand. The veela was grinning up at Bill, who had a look of pained frustration on his face. Whereas Fleur had apparently abandoned her strappy summer sandals before coming upstairs, his customary dragon hide boots were still molded to his feet, keeping Fleur from being able to pull his jeans off completely. 

"Stupid bloody things," Hermione heard Bill mutter. "I never liked them anyway." 

"Zat is a _mensonge flagrant_," Fleur teased, wrapping her arms around his legs and resting her chin against his stomach, so that her head was tilted backwards and she could look up into his face. "You love zese boots. Zey were a gift from your bruzzer." 

"They're always in the way at the most annoying times. Like now." 

"I zink zey make you look rugged and _très sexuel_." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"_Oui_." 

"I'll have to get Charlie to send me a whole wardrobe then." 

Fleur laughed. "But zen you would smell like a dragon pen, and zat, I zink, would not be _très sexuel_ in ze slightest." 

"My brother smells like a dragon pen. You've never complained about him before." 

"I do not sleep wiz your bruzzer." 

"True." 

"You would per'aps like me to start?" The twinkle in her voice was obvious, even to Hermione. 

Bill muttered something, and with a POOF!, his boots went from his feet to a corner of the room, followed closely by his jeans. "Don't try to make me jealous, Fleur," he said firmly, reaching down to take her by the shoulders and pull her to her feet. "I know I'm the only man you love." 

"'Oo says I must love ze man I sleep wiz?" The French witch was obviously enjoying this game. Hermione imagined it must be one they played often. "Zat would be silly, _non?_ Zere are zo many sweet men out zere 'oo would love ze chance to sleep wiz a veela. Even a quarter-veela, like me." She sighed, hassled. "At least zen I would never sleep alone, when you are at ze dig site and do not come 'ome at night." 

Hermione could hear Bill's growl, even from her position in the tree. "Temptress," he said huskily, pressing their foreheads together. 

"Slave," she purred seductively, trailing her fingers down his cheek. 

"I'm not your slave, Fleur." 

"'Oo said I wuz meaning you?" 

A low, guttural moan escaped Bill's lips before he crushed them onto Fleur's with mind-blowing force. Hermione could feel the bruising pressure of those lips, raised a hand to touch her own mouth in envious sympathy. Her skin was flushed, making the already steamy air unbearable. She loosened the top button of her blouse without looking away from the window. 

Bill hoisted Fleur off the floor, and the young woman's legs wrapped around his waist with an ease borne of familiarity. With one hand wrapped tightly round her hips for support, Bill's free hand was swimming all over Fleur's back as he carried her the short distance to his narrow twin bed. Charlie had elected to spend the night outside with Simon, the Scarlet Wyrm, and George and Fred were bunking downstairs with some of their favorite cousins. Harry was staying with Ron, and Percy - ever the worker bee - kept his own room, so Bill was lucky enough to have his bedroom to himself for once. 

He slid Fleur down onto the mattress, and fluidly spread himself out over her. Hermione had to shift in the tree to gain a better view of them, because the bed was blocked by a particularly thick bunch of leaves. Even from the new position, much of her vision was obscured. But she could see enough to make out Fleur's pale leg being slowly caressed by Bill's tanned hand, and her hearing was unimpeded, so she could still hear the veela's moans. "Bill," the woman whimpered, and Hermione itched with frustration to know what was going on. "Ohhhh, Bill…!" 

"Are you really my slave, Fleur?" the eldest Weasley son asked huskily. 

"_Oui_, Bill," Fleur answered breathlessly. "If you wish it, I will be your anyzing…" 

A breath of welcome air tossed the leaves aside, and Hermione had an unobstructed view of the window again. Somewhere along the way, Fleur had lost her sinfully small panties - presumably that was what had made her moan earlier - and Bill's boxer shorts were nowhere to be seen. The quarter-veela had a leg crooked up on the side of Bill's body facing the window, and her back was arched away from the mattress as he kissed down her throat. Both delicate hands were pressed against his shoulders, as if simultaneously drawing him in and pushing him downward. Perfect, pearl-white teeth bit at her full bottom lip as Bill's mouth worked savage miracles against her skin. 

Hermione couldn't blink. Her eyes were burning, but she didn't dare blink. This was wrong, and she knew it, but she knew also that she wouldn't look away. Did all Weasleys have backs like that? Strong and sinewy, corded with smooth muscle that gleamed in the hazy moonlight. She didn't think uncle Ansgar did, but then he had the umlaut to contend with. 

She wondered if Ron's back looked like that. 

"I don't want you to be my slave," Bill murmured, pushing himself slowly up onto his hands, holding himself over the naked veela. "I don't need a slave." 

Fleur whimpered, tugging on his shoulders, trying to pull him back to finish what he'd started. "I told you, anyzing," she panted. "Anyzing, Bill. My Bill. _Mon coeur. Je serai votre quelque chose, mais svp ne m'arrête pas_…!" 

Her importuning hands must have worked, because he lowered himself down until their stomachs touched, then kissed her, slow and steamy, as his hips angled forward. Hermione heard Fleur's garbled moan, saw the woman's body tense. Her own fingers were digging into the tree branches around her, embedding bark deeply beneath her nails. The pain was good - it helped keep her mind focused. Helped her stop imagining a very different Weasley in that bed, with a very different, all-too-familiar girl. 

"Yes…!" Fleur gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around Bill's torso. "Oh YES…!" 

Bill said nothing, only grunted in response. Their hips were moving slowly, but Hermione could see Bill's lips nipping hungrily at Fleur's neck and shoulders, the delicate skin behind her ears. Fleur, in turn, slid one hand up his back to pull at the leather thong which kept his long ginger hair in check. It spilled out across his shoulders, and Fleur's slender fingers combed through the soft, silky strands, obviously thrilling to the texture and weight of it in her hands. "_Je t'aime_," Fleur panted, before drifting off into a long moan of indecipherable French as Bill's hips began to pick up speed. 

They were moving together like pistons in an engine, though Hermione knew the simile would have been lost on the pair. Perhaps it was too strong anyway; pistons evoked an image of wild, driving power. This was entirely different. A sort of exponential passion that seemed to build with each stroke. She was amazed by how in tune they were; there had been no clumsiness to start. They obviously knew each other's rhythms well enough to match each other, move for move, without difficulty. This, she decided, was not something to be learned from a book. This required experience. 

Their pace was quicker now. Fleur was gasping for air, one hand clawing down Bill's back as the other frantically pawed at the bedsheets, clutching and pulling. Bill raised his head from her throat to cover her mouth with another scorching kiss, his hand stretching out to the side to cover her flailing one and hold it still, pressing her shoulders into the mattress as her legs locked tightly around his waist. Hermione heard the woman let out a pealing wail into Bill's mouth, saw her freeze, then jerk, then jerk again before going loose and slumping back to the bed. Bill's muscles corded as she spasmed beneath him, and he stalled for a long moment before collapsing on top of her, spent and exhausted. 

That, also, could not be learned from a book. Hermione didn't think she could ever read a book on the subject again. 

For a long time, the only sound to come through the bedroom window was gasping breaths and the occasional moan. There was no movement beyond breathing, no effort to separate. For all intents and purposes, they could have been two halves of a single person. 

Bill was the first to break the silence. "I love you," he whispered. 

Fleur's eyes were closed, but she raised a hand to stroke his long auburn hair. "_De même,_" she sighed, content. 

"Will you marry me?" 

Hermione felt her breath catch, but Fleur didn't seem surprised. "Be your wife, not your slave?" she asked dreamily. 

Bill turned his head so that his cheek was pillowed on her chest. "Yes," he answered. 

"Did I not say I would be your anyzing, Bill Weasley?" Her gentle smile turned slowly radiant. "_Oui_." 

Bill's eyes had already drifted shut, but his own smile was huge as he replied, "Good." 

Fleur sighed happily, and began to hum a quiet lullabye, sometimes singing a few soft lines in French. Bill's smile slowly faded as sleep overtook him, and soon enough, Fleur's voice ebbed off into sleep as well. They looked perfect like that, as though they had always been meant to be. 

Hermione left them there and climbed back down the tree, hoping her heartbeat wasn't loud enough to wake them. 

  


**************************

Shaky legs carried her back to the party, which was still going full swing in the Weasley's backyard. It seemed odd, reemerging into the light and sound of the Solstice Celebration, after witnessing such a peaceful moment back at the house. For a minute, she stood at the edge of the festivities, watching everyone mingle and laugh together, letting the atmosphere reabsorb into her system. 

"What happened to you?" 

She turned towards the voice, and saw Ron looking at her with puzzled eyes. "You look like you fell out of a tree," he remarked. "You all right?" 

Hermione could feel herself blushing and hoped he didn't notice. "I'm fine," she lied. "I just took a bit of a tumble, that's all." 

"You want to sit down?" 

She didn't think she could walk at the moment, let alone find a place to sit down, so she shook her head. "No, I'll be okay. Really." 

Ron didn't look convinced, but let the matter drop. "Where've you been?" he asked, coming closer. "I've been looking all over for you. Did you see Simon singe Fred's hair? It was wicked!" He grinned. "Course, gets him back for those acid pops when I was a kid." 

Hermione smiled. "I must have missed that," she admitted. "I took a little walk to get some fresh air." 

Ron nodded. "Yeah. This lot can get a bit claustrophobic after a while." He paused before adding. "They all love you, you know." 

She was a little taken aback. "They do?" 

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah," he replied. "They think you're the smartest thing since shoes. A few of them only have one problem." 

"What's that?" 

"You don't have red hair. Whatever you do, DON'T let Auntie Griselda anywhere near you. She's got a hair dyeing charm I think she's itching to use on you." 

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. 

"What?" he asked, obviously not sure if he should be offended or laughing as well. 

"Nothing," she told him breathlessly, still giggling. "I was just wondering what Fleur would look like with red hair." 

Ron frowned at her. "What does Fleur have to do with anything?" 

She shook her head. "Never mind," she told him, then added, "Is there anymore of that iced pumpkin juice left?" 

Ron's smile brightened again. "Yeah. Want some?" 

"That would be wonderful. I'm parched." 

"Right then. I'll get it. DON'T LEAVE. If you go running off and tripping over trees again, I won't go searching." He nodded firmly, then turned away to search out the pumpkin juice. 

Hermione watched him go, a fond smile on her lips. He could be quite the gentleman, when he wanted to be. And when he wasn't trying so hard NOT to impress her. //Red hair,// she thought idly. //You could do worse than to have red hair.// 

As she watched him go, she decided he had a very nice back. 

  
  
_THE END_

  
All French translations provided by AltaVista's Babelfish translation service (). I wish I could do it on my own, but this particular author took 4 ½ years of Spanish, not French, and even THAT ended years ago. LOL! 

*_mensonge flagrant:_ "blatant lie"  
**_très sexuel:_ "very sexual" (very sexy)  
***_Mon coeur. Je serai votre quelque chose, mais svp ne m'arrête pas:_ "My heart. I will be your anything, but please don't stop…!"   
****_De meme:_ "Likewise." 


End file.
